


9 memories

by Buggirl



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buggirl/pseuds/Buggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble about Warden-Commander Clarel de Chanson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	9 memories

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Chupacabramustdie for the beta and assistance with French translations.

If you could, you might ask me what is the last thing to go through my mind as I unleashed the bolt that would signal my doom.

Many things, my friend, many things. They are fleeting, not enough to hold on to, but enough that through the fear, through the song, I can remember a sense of me.

First was the smell of freshly baked pastries that my father brought fresh from the oven.

“One day my sweet, you too will have your chance to make these and I hope the knowledge I pass on to you will make you the most famous pâtissier in all Orlais!”

It’s a declaration from a beloved that never came to fruition.

My second was the fear in my heart as I set the milking barn on fire and I ran away into the night. They found me starving and near death two weeks later in the forest. My father wept as they carted me off to a ‘safe place’. I never saw him again, my last memory was his tears when I cried _‘Papa, ne les laisse pas m’emmener!’_

The third was the smell of books and the face of a man who told me not to be frightened, that it can be controlled, that I will grow to make it my own. For years I am happy, I am me, I am a mage of the circle. I am safe.

My fourth was the face of the Templar that I loved. By this time, I had forgotten that the Maker had forsaken me, so my love was lost to a demon not of my making. I fled through the night and into a company of Grey Wardens.

The fifth was the joining. I harboured no doubts about the ritual. The wrongness I felt inside of me differed – differs – only in that this time I know I am corrupt, all uncertainty removed.

The sixth was the memory of purpose, how it drove me and made me, for lack of a better word – content.

The seventh was the calmness I felt when I first heard the calling. Others panicked, the younger recruits who thought they had more time most of all. I fell into concern for them and so at another mage’s suggestion I used blood.

The eighth was of lost family, lost learning, lost love and purpose. All of the things of my past, destroyed as I watched the knife flick across the throat of the elf no more than a child.

The final memory is of honour restored, of fighting trying to defeat an evil that was never conquered. This is my gift to the Maker, no matter our differences I will forfeit my life in one final act.

_Ici gît l’abîme, le puits de toutes les âmes._  
De ces eaux émeraude rejaillit la vie.  
Viens à moi, mon enfant, et je t’embrasserai.  
Dans mes bras se trouve l’Éternité 


End file.
